Chapter 24
As soon as he was alone, the doctor threw himself on his bed; but he could not sleep. He had never in his life been so much puzzled. He felt as if this crime was the result of some terrible but mysterious intrigue; and the very fact of having, as he fancied, raised a corner of the veil, made him burn with the desire to draw it aside altogether.
"Why," he said to himself, "why might not the scamp whom we hold be the author of the other two attempts likewise? There is nothing improbable in that supposition. The man, once engaged, might easily have been put on board 'The Conquest;' and he might have left France saying to himself that it would be odd indeed, if during a long voyage, or in a land like this, he did not find a chance to earn his money without running much risk."
The result of his meditations was, that the chief surgeon appeared, at nine o'clock, at the office of the state attorney. He placed the matter before him very fully and plainly; and, an hour afterwards, he crossed the yard on his way to the prison, accompanied by a magistrate and his clerk.
"How is the man the sailors brought here last night?" he asked the jailer. "Badly, sir. He would not eat."
"What did he say when he got here?"
"Nothing. He seemed to be stupefied."
"You did not try to make him talk?"
"Why, yes, a little. He answered that he had done some mischief; that he was in despair, and wished he were dead."
The magistrate looked at the surgeon as if he meant to say, "Just as I expected from what you told me!" Then, turning again to the jailer, he said,--
"Show us to the prisoner's cell."
The murderer had been put into a small but tidy cell in the first story. When they entered, they found him seated on his bed, his heels on the bars, and his chin in the palm of his hands. As soon as he saw the surgeon, he jumped up, and with outstretched arms and rolling eyes, exclaimed,--
"The officer has died!"
"No," replied the surgeon, "no! Calm yourself. The wound is a very bad one; but in a fortnight he will be up again."
These words fell like a heavy blow upon the murderer. He turned pale; his lips quivered; and he trembled in all his limbs. Still he promptly mastered this weakness of the flesh; and falling on his knees, with folded hands, he murmured in the most dramatic manner,--
"Then I am not a murderer! O Great God, I thank thee!" And his lips moved as if he were uttering a fervent prayer.
It was evidently a case of coarsest hypocrisy; for his looks contradicted his words and his voice. The magistrate, however, seemed to be taken in.
"You show proper feelings," he said. "Now get up and answer me. What is your name?"
"Evariste Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet."
"What age?"
"Thirty-five years."
"Where were you born?"
"At Bagnolet, near Paris. And on that account, my friend"-- "Never mind. Your profession?"
The man hesitated. The magistrate added,--
"In your own interest I advise you to tell the truth. The truth always comes out in the end; and your position would be a very serious one if you tried to lie. Answer, therefore, directly."
"Well, I am an engraver on metal; but I have been in the army; I served my time in the marines."
"What brought you to Cochin China?"
"The desire to find work. I was tired of Paris. There was no work for engravers. I met a friend who told me the government wanted good workmen for the colonies."
"What was your friend's name?"
A slight blush passed over the man's cheek's, and he answered hastily,-- "I have forgotten his name."
The magistrate seemed to redouble his attention, although he did not show it.
"That is very unfortunate for you," he answered coldly. "Come, make an effort; try to remember."
"I know I cannot; it is not worth the trouble."
"Well; but no doubt you recollect the profession of the man who knew so well that government wanted men in Cochin China? What was it?"
The man, this time, turned crimson with rage, and cried out with extraordinary vehemence,--
"How do I know? Besides, what have I to do with my friend's name and profession? I learned from him that they wanted workmen. I called at the navy department, they engaged me; and that is all."
Standing quietly in one of the corners of the cell, the old chief surgeon lost not a word, not a gesture, of the murderer. And he could hardly refrain from rubbing his hands with delight as he noticed the marvellous skill of the magistrate in seizing upon all those little signs, which, when summed up at the end of an investigation, form an overwhelming mass of evidence against the criminal. The magistrate, in the meantime, went on with the same impassive air,--
"Let us leave that question, then, since it seems to irritate you, and let us go on to your residence here. How have you supported yourself at Saigon?"
"By my work, forsooth! I have two arms; and I am not a good-for- nothing."
"You have found employment, you say, as engraver on metal?"
"No."
"But you said"--
Evariste Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, could hardly conceal his impatience.
"If you won't let me have my say," he broke out insolently, "it isn't worth while questioning me."
The magistrate seemed not to notice it. He answered coldly,-- "Oh! talk as much as you want. I can wait."
"Well, then, the day after we had landed, M. Farniol, the owner of the French restaurant, offered me a place as waiter. Of course I accepted, and stayed there a year. Now I wait at table at the Hotel de France, kept by M. Roy. You can send for my two masters; they will tell you whether there is any complaint against me."
"They will certainly be examined. And where do you live?"
"At the Hotel de France, of course, where I am employed."
The magistrate's face looked more and more benevolent. He asked next,-- "And that is a good place,--to be waiter at a restaurant or a hotel?"
"Why, yes--pretty good."
"They pay well; eh?"
"That depends,--sometimes they do; at other times they don't. When it is the season"--
"That is so everywhere. But let us be accurate. You have been now eighteen months in Saigon; no doubt you have laid up something?"
The man looked troubled and amazed, as if he had suddenly found out that the apparent benevolence of the magistrate had led him upon slippery and dangerous ground. He said evasively,--
"If I have put anything aside, it is not worth mentioning."
"On the contrary, let us mention it. How much about have you saved?"
Bagnolet's looks, and the tremor of his lips, showed the rage that was devouring him. "I don't know," he said sharply.
The magistrate made a gesture of surprise which was admirable. He added,--
"What! You don't know how much you have laid up? That is too improbable! When people save money, one cent after another, to provide for their old age, they know pretty well"--
"Well, then, take it for granted that I have saved nothing."
"As you like it. Only it is my duty to show you the effect of your declaration. You tell me you have not laid up any money, don't you? Now, what would you say, if, upon search being made, the police should find a certain sum of money on your person or elsewhere?"
"They won't find any."
"So much the better for you; for, after what you said, it would be a terrible charge."
"Let them search."
"They are doing it now, and not only in your room, but also elsewhere. They will soon know if you have invested any money, or if you have deposited it with any of your acquaintances."
"I may have brought some money with me from home."
"No; for you have told me that you could no longer live in Paris, finding no work." Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet, made such a sudden and violent start, that the surgeon thought he was going to attack the magistrate. He felt he had been caught in a net the meshes of which were drawing tighter and tighter around him; and these apparently inoffensive questions assumed suddenly a terrible meaning.
"Just answer me in one word," said the magistrate. "Did you bring any money from France, or did you not?"
The man rose, and his lips opened to utter a curse; but he checked himself, sat down again, and, laughing ferociously, he said,--
"Ah! you would like to 'squeeze' me, and make me cut my own throat. But luckily, I can see through you; and I refuse to answer."
"You mean you want to consider. Have a care! You need not consider in order to tell the truth."
And, as the man remained obstinately silent, the magistrate began again after a pause, saying,--
"You know what you are accused of? They suspect that you fired at Lieut. Champcey with intent to kill."
"That is an abominable lie!"
"So you say. How did you hear that the officers of 'The Conquest' had arranged a large hunting-party?"
"I had heard them speak of it at table d'hote."
"And you